


one more day

by ospreyx



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Pining, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23115103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ospreyx/pseuds/ospreyx
Summary: “As you know, I’m quite skilled at dying.”The tip of Wolf’s blade reached Hanbei’s chin and nudged. He looked up as he was directed, a delightful shiver running down his spine at the cool kiss of metal against his exposed throat. He heard Wolf’s low, silvery murmur, “I doubt that’s the only thing you’re skilled at.”
Relationships: Hanbei the Undying/Sekiro | Wolf
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	one more day

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is spoiler-free, both for the game itself and for hanbei's questline. i just wanted wolf and his infested boyfriend to have a good time :)))

Hanbei had been there for a long time, the weeks crawling slowly past, standing idle nearby a dilapidated temple. He didn’t remember the last time he’d talked to someone - Sekijo had sent him to the shrine just outside the temple, empty save for the few candles that miraculously stayed lit through the snowfall, and that was it. He would not call it a home, but he would definitely call it a safe space.

It offered a while of blissful respite. It provided a fragile sort of peace that he had never been blessed with in the war-torn land of Ashina. Or at least, it _was_ tranquil, until a shinobi passed by, but he found that he didn’t mind. A hollow vessel like him, with nowhere to go, no one to return to. That was Hanbei’s assumption, anyways; the shinobi said nothing, alluded to nothing, talking only with his blade.

The first time they sparred was a fierce breath of fresh air. He was small, lithe, moved with the ease of a kunai embedding itself within a smooth expanse of flesh. The only time Hanbei touched him was when his katana sliced through him. Hand clutched onto the shinobi’s wrist, tightening as the blade nestled between his ribs.

This close, he could see the golden shimmer of the man’s eyes. Perfect, dangerous, a glint in the dark as it would appear on a blade in the light. He let go once the blade was wrenched free.

There was blood in his lungs, dirt in his mouth, and he coughed it all up with a guttural hack as he rose once more. He admired the way the shinobi’s eyes widened almost as much as he admired his technique.

“I could be of use to you,” Hanbei offered after a fruitless introduction.

The man tilted his head, something odd in his eyes. For a moment, Hanbei assumed he would be denied, but the man only said, “I see.”

He sheathed his katana, pulled his scarf further up to mask his nose. Hanbei watched, with a hand steadied on the hilt of his own blade, as the shinobi left. Quick, efficient, graceful - it was a luxury to watch him leave, nearly more so than it was to watch him fight.

* * *

Hanbei still didn’t know his name.

He supposed he didn’t need to.

Still nameless, still so alluringly enigmatic, rushing at him with the ease of the summertime breeze.

He was content enough that the shinobi returned some time after they first met. Content to see the shock of silver at his temple, the artificial hand that settled on the hilt of his blade, the way he bowed his head when he asked to practice a particular move he had yet to get used to.

And by the Gods, was he a fast learner.

It was on a thrust forwards that the shinobi caught his blade under his heel and lifted his own to strike. But Hanbei was far from incapable - he recovered quickly and narrowly avoided the strike to his throat with the sickening shriek of colliding metal. It took a few more tries before the shinobi finally brought him down.

The man’s breaths came short and steady, mellowing only after he buried his blade into Hanbei’s back. Hanbei settled for a moment, swathed in the void he recognized far too well, coming back shortly after with a rattling breath. He rose to his feet with a rough laugh.

Hanbei caught him as he was about to sheathe his blade. “Did I say we were done?” he asked, reaching out to retrieve his katana from where he dropped it. The man seemed interested, hand easing from his sheath. “Again.”

And again, they sparred.

Again, until Hanbei saw progress.

Again, until he couldn’t recover.

On the fourth time he rose, he slipped out of his fighting stance. He cleared the blood from his throat, held his breath until the ache in his chest subsided.

“You did well, sir,” Hanbei told him.

“Wolf,” the man corrected. Hanbei was unnecessarily pleased with how rough his voice sounded. “Call me Wolf.”

Hanbei nodded. Something surged in his gut, something that he eventually recognized as vague satisfaction. _Wolf._ It fit him - demeanor solemn, voice quiet, eyes as bright as those of a wolf amidst a hunt. He wanted to repeat the name until it didn’t sound real anymore.

Instead, he settled with saying, “I expected no less from you, Wolf.”

* * *

There was always something new with Wolf.

A new tactic, a new combat skill, a new request.

Hanbei never cared. It was always a morbid delight, watching as Wolf approached him, hand already readied on the hilt of his blade. Death was not something he feared. Wolf was not something he feared, either. They came together, hand-in-hand with each following sparring match, and Hanbei never feared it. He had long since forgotten what it felt like to fear an opponent.

It was an honor, dying to Wolf. It was a pleasure, watching as Wolf learned and adapted and executed each combat art until there was nothing left to improve on.

He caught Wolf off guard once. He dodged Wolf’s thrust, deflected the following attack, ducked and swept at Wolf’s feet before he could recover. For a moment, he thought Wolf failed.

He didn’t expect Wolf to jump over his blade, nor did he expect Wolf to kick him hard enough to have him stumbling backwards into the shrine. For one thrilling moment, he was at the tip of Wolf’s blade, his own lying just out of reach, back pressed against the sharp, merciless edge of the shrine.

Hanbei stared up at Wolf from where he knelt. It was different, being the one to look up at Wolf, drowning in his shadow while he waited for the blade to finally slice through his flesh. As satisfying as it was to be the witness to Wolf’s flawless improvement, he still ached to be the one standing.

He ached to have Wolf on his knees, smaller than he already was, finally disarmed and neutralized.

“Why do you do it?” Wolf asked him. “Dying hurts. It doesn’t hurt any less than it did the first time, yet you let it happen anyway.”

“I never said it didn’t hurt. I said I was useful.” Hanbei let out a rough bark of a laugh. “As you know, I’m quite skilled at dying.”

The tip of Wolf’s blade reached Hanbei’s chin and nudged. He looked up as he was directed, a delightful shiver running down his spine at the cool kiss of metal against his exposed throat. He heard Wolf’s low, silvery murmur, “I doubt that’s the only thing you’re skilled at.”

Hanbei leaned in to the touch of the blade. Frigid, seething, pressing against his skin until it stung. His heart raced, his breath stuck in his throat, but it was nothing close to fear. There was no greater rush than losing to Wolf. And Wolf only watched him, grip steady, something heavy smoldering within the haze of gold.

It was heady; it was sublime.

Unlike with any other opponent, Hanbei relished in a thrill that made him feel far too warm all over. And, unlike the others, Wolf showed him mercy; he withdrew his blade and kicked Hanbei’s over to him with a small billow of upturned snow.

“Again.”

Watching Wolf leave that night was a pain as much as it was a pleasure.

* * *

Sparring with Wolf was always a challenge. He was remarkably different from others Hanbei had faced; the way he combined new skills, used them until they were second nature, kept fighting until he couldn’t anymore. He came back often, and he always left once Hanbei called it for the evening.

Soon, Hanbei was just looking forward to seeing Wolf. Seeing him move, seeing him retaliate, seeing him panting and exhausted. He was more tantalizing than he had the right to be.

Hanbei never wanted it to end.

For a moment, he thought he had the upper hand. He swiped high this time, and Wolf barely managed to deflect it. Again, their blades collided, metal screeching as they ground together. Neither of them gave in, both pressing in, refusing to budge, refusing to yield. Over their crossed blades, Hanbei met Wolf’s gaze.

He considered leaning in. He yearned to reach up, untie the string of his mask, and press his lips to Wolf’s until they couldn’t stand anymore. He saw the way Wolf’s eyes trailed down, to his lips and then back up to his own eyes, something needy flashing on his expression for a moment.

As if Wolf knew what he was aching for, he rasped out, “What?”

One of them gave in, and Wolf jumped back with a metallic scrape. Hanbei rushed forwards, but Wolf only deflected the attack and jumped further away. He made no move to counterattack, and after a short, mind-numbing moment, Hanbei realized that Wolf was teasing him.

Luring him in, taunting him until he finally snapped.

He should have been ashamed to admit that it was working. He should have been ashamed to chase so willingly after Wolf. But he supposed he’d give Wolf a run for his money; he abandoned the usual caution he held in battle, instead turning to the aggression that only Wolf would show.

He was delighted with the disgruntled noise Wolf made. His blood rushed hotter than before as Wolf stumbled back, no longer able to hold his posture. Hanbei aimed to kill this time - tilting his blade just so, readying to slit Wolf’s throat, and as he expected, Wolf recovered in time to block the attack.

There they were again, at a stalemate, Wolf refusing to yield and Hanbei refusing to let go. 

“I want you,” Hanbei finally answered.

And Wolf wanted, too. Hanbei could see it in his eyes, so painfully blatant, so alluring bright. Hanbei was caught off guard by the sudden shove upwards. He tightened his hold on his blade, the screech of scraping metal muted in his ears.

Once they stilled, Wolf murmured, “If you can land a hit, I’ll let you have me.”

It was far too difficult to breathe.

Hanbei never wanted someone so badly. He’d never had such a strong, visceral _want,_ only worsening with each passing moment. Their blades separated, mere seconds before they collided again.

Again, until Wolf learned.

Again, until Hanbei couldn’t keep up.

Again, until Wolf buried his blade in Hanbei’s chest, low where his diaphragm sat, forcing the breath right out of him. Hanbei couldn’t say he was upset, though.

He could never be upset about losing to Wolf.

* * *

Some time passed before Hanbei won.

But it wasn’t a proper victory.

Or at least, it didn’t feel like a victory. They stopped once, Hanbei demanding that Wolf try, because really, he didn’t try. He didn’t try as he slowly withdrew his katana, as he half-heartedly asked to review a combat art they had already went over some time ago, as he failed to deflect an attack.

Hanbei caught Wolf where his neck met his shoulder, ruining his scarf, staining the fabric a deep, ugly red. He doubted it was fatal, but nevertheless, he halted. He watched how Wolf clamped an artificial hand over the wound, teeth gritted. It was bitter in his mouth, bitter in his chest, bitter where his hand tightened over the hilt of his blade.

He lowered his blade to the snow. “You’re distracted,” he pointed out. “Why?”

A faint cloud left Wolf’s lips as he heaved a sigh. “Maybe I wanted to lose.”

Hanbei knew what was promised, but it felt wrong to take it. Not while those stunning eyes had cast themselves downwards for some reason, refusing to meet his.

He sheathed his blade, then gestured to the steps of the shrine. “Let’s rest for a while.” 

He didn’t understand the odd expression Wolf gave him.

Wolf settled next to him, unwinding the scarf and setting it aside. The wound on his skin glistened wetly in the candle light, yawning wide as he tilted his head, snapping back shut as he winced. Hanbei almost mentioned the doctor that he knew would visit the temple from time to time.

But he chose to stay silent instead. Wolf took a messy swig from his gourd, and soon, the wound mended itself; the skin knitted back together, as slow and unhurried as the blood that dripped down the expanse of a blade. The only evidence of the wound remained on his scarf, stained red around the jagged tear.

Hanbei had only ever heard rumors of the healing waters of Ashina. He supposed it wasn’t too surprising - he, infested and abandoned, would know better than to dwell. He didn’t care for the healing waters, or for rumors, or for much other than the man seated next to him.

Everything Wolf did was sublime. He was perfect when he was exhausted; he was perfect when he was pristine. Calm, collected, drinking still from the gourd, careless enough that a droplet trailed down the smooth column of his throat.

Hanbei swallowed thickly.

If Wolf knew he was staring, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he said, “You’re not the only one skilled at dying.”

“Oh?”

Wolf didn’t respond to the prompt for some time. He stared down the path that led to the temple, the candle light dim in his eyes. Eventually, he said, “The Sculptor is sick.”

Hanbei only continued to stare, unsure of what the correlation was, uncaring of what it truly meant. He offered, “Whatever it is, it isn’t your fault. And if it is, well.” He shrugged. “It’ll resolve itself eventually. All things do.”

Wolf regarded him with another odd look, as if he wasn’t sure how to respond. But at the very least, he seemed pleased with the answer. Another gust of wind rushed past them, tugging at Wolf’s haori, enough to urge him to sidle closer. At Wolf’s side, there was a pouch that he reached for, and inside it was a sizable mound of candy.

Some were a bright red, while others were a deep crimson. He could only watch, with his heart in his throat, as Wolf popped one into his mouth, seemingly contented with the taste. Hanbei vaguely recognized them; he’d heard of small, rounded candies that offered strength, endurance, even something akin to an illusion. Wolf didn’t seem to care.

“They’re ordinary candy until you take the proper stance,” Wolf reassured.

Hanbei wasn’t entirely sure if that was true, but he accepted the candy that was offered to him, anyways. He was never particularly fond of sweet things, but he held it on his tongue regardless, interested more in Wolf than he was in the taste. He’d watch Wolf forever, if he could; watch in fascination as he bit each candy, savored the taste, returned for more.

He wondered if Wolf tasted just as sweet.

* * *

Wolf was an exceptionally fast learner, but so was Hanbei.

Wolf’s prosthetic was a fascinating thing; cold to the touch, the markings on it ominous, its light clatter soft in Hanbei’s ears whenever it moved. At first, whether he liked to admit it or not, he avoided Wolf’s left side. He wasn’t sure if it was out of pity or if he was just too prideful to get a cheap shot in.

But prideful or not, it was a flaw he steadily became more willing to exploit. He watched how Wolf gradually became more balanced, more confident - relying more on his prosthetic, using it for more than just the tools that it held. He watched as Wolf deflected yet another attack. Watched as he moved, watched how he grew tired, watched how those eyes grew heavy, heady.

Wolf was watching him, too. Perhaps that would be his downfall - he was anticipatory in a way that was a distraction. It was both a surprise and a thrill when Hanbei managed to nick him. The tip of his blade sliced through his haori, deep enough to draw a thin well of blood, but not enough to be fatal. Not enough to “win” this match.

But it wasn’t about winning.

Wolf jumped out of reach after the next deflection. Circled him, eyes predatory in how wide they were blown, katana held ready. Hanbei laughed, the sound breathless, so embarrassingly wrecked.

“You want me to beg? Is that it?”

Wolf grinned at that. He only raised his blade higher. And Hanbei knew the game he was playing - knew that he was falling for the bait yet again, that he was being toyed with, but he liked it.

He liked what Wolf did to him.

Whether Wolf genuinely wasn’t used to his opponent targeting his left side alone or just didn’t care to put up much of a fight, Hanbei didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered until he finally disarmed Wolf, their blades ringing loudly in the air, the metallic screech muted in Hanbei’s ears over the rush of blood.

Wolf tilted his head back, eyes hooded, skin reddening under where Hanbei pressed his blade. For a few long, painstaking moments, Hanbei only stared. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus, itching only to kiss Wolf until they couldn’t think anymore. Wolf pushed forwards, hard enough against the blade that it drew the smallest droplets of blood.

Wolf’s voice rumbled low in his chest as he asked, “Did I say we were done?”

There’s a lilt to his tone, teasing, beckoning.

Gods, did Hanbei want.

Hanbei’s grip tightened on the hilt of his blade. He reached up and undid the tie to his mask, allowing it to come loose and fall to the snow. It was remarkably pleasing, how Wolf’s eyes followed the movement, something strikingly needy lingering in them when he glanced back upwards.

He lowered his blade. He didn’t bother sheathing it, didn’t get the chance to; Wolf surged forwards, and Hanbei met him halfway. Their mouths slotted together, messy and frantic and so, so perfect. He tasted of candy and sakura, of blood and ashes, of something so distinctly sweet that it made Hanbei’s head spin.

The offering box was shoved away with a loud, unforgiving clatter as Wolf pushed him down against the shrine. It was a cruel sort of irony, his back to the buddha carving, abysmal and heretical and so stunningly sinful that it made him crave even more. It wasn’t like he genuinely cared - he stopped caring for things like that a long time ago. Wolf didn’t seem to care, either.

But he might’ve cared if he wasn’t infested. He might’ve cared if he had something to uphold and someone to respect him. He might’ve cared if it wasn’t Wolf in his lap.

Hanbei struggled to undress them, achieving just enough to pull both of their cocks free. Wolf sighed against his lips. The drag of his palm over their lengths brought a surge of white-hot pleasure, and he hissed at the feeling, watching with a hazy fascination as Wolf rolled his hips down against him. He ground their lengths together, rocked into Hanbei’s loose grip, shuddered when it tightened.

Wolf only pulled away to reach back into one of his many pockets, his rummaging becoming clumsier as Hanbei pressed a few open-mouthed kisses to his throat. There was copper on his lips, the smell of sakura in his nostrils, a blissful sort of torture that had him bucking up into Wolf harder. He managed to find the phial he was looking for and pressed it into Hanbei’s hand with an impatient murmur.

Wolf’s body slotted readily with his, as if he belonged there, as if he was meant to be writhing and grinding on Hanbei’s lap. Slipping one leg out of his hakama proved mildly difficult, though it would have been faster, easier if Hanbei didn't chase after him every time he broke away from the kiss. He tensed at the first press of a slicked fingertip to his entrance, but then he pushed back against it, a sigh leaving his lips as it sunk in deeper. Hanbei swallowed the noise Wolf made as a second finger joined the first.

Hanbei pulled away again, enraptured by how bruised Wolf’s lips were, how flushed his face had become. Not once had he ever seen Wolf’s expression falter from its usual enigmatic state; not once had he ever heard the desperation in Wolf’s voice that spilled forth as he pressed in deeper. The thick heat of arousal pooled in his gut, his cock throbbing at each pitiful noise that Wolf made, carrying on until they both grew too impatient.

The first thrust up into Wolf was mind-numbing. He buried his cock in as deep as he could, the heat divine in a way he never remembered it being. He shoved his nose into the crook of Wolf’s neck and nuzzled into the spot he’d wounded not too long ago. His hands settled on Wolf’s hips, grip bruising, holding Wolf still when all he wanted was to _move_.

Wolf rolled his hips instead, the fluidity of the movement mesmerizing. He tightened around Hanbei like he ached for it, pressed harder against him like he enjoyed the thick weight inside him.

“Hanbei.” It was breathed out against his lips. Soft, needy, desperate. “Need more.”

He’d never heard Wolf sound so helpless, so rough with want.

He craved more of it.

Hanbei guided Wolf with his hands, held him steady, breaths hot between them as he finally fucked up into him. Wolf eagerly met each thrust, twitching at each hard press in, eventually letting out an awfully broken noise that made Hanbei’s cock ache. 

Hanbei relished in every choked sound Wolf made, in the nails that scrabbled for purchase at his shoulder, in the way Wolf clenched around his cock when he’d kiss at his neck. All of Wolf was sweet - the candy on his lips, the blood at his throat, the faintest scent of sakura that lingered on his skin. He watched as Wolf reached down to stroke at his cock, frantic and uncoordinated, the sight making it harder to breathe, harder to think, harder to focus on anything that wasn’t Wolf.

All that mattered was Wolf; Wolf meeting every thrust, Wolf tensing as he came, Wolf shoving his face into Hanbei’s shoulder with a tremulous groan. It wasn’t long before Hanbei reached that sweet release, holding Wolf down on his cock, jerkily grinding up into him.

There was something incredibly satisfying in seeing Wolf look this debauched - sweat beading on his skin, loose strands of hair falling over his eyes, skin flushed a pretty red. They’d both be miserably sore later, Hanbei knew, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Wolf lifted himself on shaky knees, the sound of Hanbei slipping out of him obscene in a way that makes his heart pound in his throat. 

“Stay for a while,” Hanbei said, pleading rather than asking.

Wolf’s lips ghosted over his forehead, not quite a kiss, but the sentiment was there.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hello to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ospreyxxx) ✨


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